Building True Community in Dance Music — A Blueprint Found in American Cities. By Eshie Dhaliwal
“You’re American, but you like this music?”
I’ve heard this so many times in smoking areas, behind booth monitors, or mid-chat on European dancefloors. I have even gotten into an argument with someone in the line at Pickle Factory who was adamant that Techno was from Berlin. The sheer frequency of this comment is problematic, as it reflects a deeply Eurocentric view that conveniently forgets the roots of house and techno. It’s an assumption that America gave the world EDM as a corporate, stadium-fueled export and little else. But this couldn’t be further from the truth.
Once you strip the big production stages and “drop culture,” there’s a world of deeply rooted underground dance music communities across the U.S. As seen in Baltimore, Detroit, NYC, San Francisco, and Miami. These cities have historically been nurturing vibrant, often radical dance music scenes since the very beginning. These spaces are carved out by people of color and those of the LGBTQ+, which represent resistance, invention, and care. From the raw pulse of Baltimore Club to the precision of Detroit Techno, the thump of Miami Bass to the groove of West Coast Tech House—this is the true heart of underground electronic music.
As I wrap up a year of hosting my radio show Rhythms Between Lines on Voices Radio, I’ve explored how geographical borders can shape music within cities. I’ve discovered sounds across the globe, but I wanted to shine a light here on cities like Washington DC, New York, and San Francisco—that hold a special place for me.
One quote that stuck with me this year came from a piece from Second Floor:
“No one’s moving to DC to get famous. Maybe that’s why the music is so good.”
That line says it all. In DC, the community is the glue. It's the reason people gather, not a product to be consumed for status. There are minimal RA headlines with no manufactured hype. It’s just a love for sound, space, and each other. This creates an ecosystem where collaboration flourishes, and ego often takes a back seat. It’s where you can try something new, fail, and still be embraced. The community shows up because they care. Parties here feel intentional. If you’re in the room, it’s because you want to be. Maybe even if you don’t know who’s playing. You trust the party and where the music will take you. It fosters risk-taking. It's building towards something lasting, and why the community there can materialize off just the dance floor.
I’ve been fortunate enough to be friends with some very talented individuals who put on incredible parties, from Hast du Feuer to ZAP Outdoorz Festival. They work with longtime and local talent to showcase artists such as James Bangura, Dreamcastmoe, Beautiful Swimmers, JIALING, Sosa Tharpa, Jacq Jill, and many more. Perhaps you haven’t realized that this group is all from the same city, Washington, D.C. Each artist's catalog is so impressive that every mix or EP consistently blows me away. They remind me where electronic music originates from. You can hear the journey in their sounds, which evolve by not following trends, but rather paying homage to the origins of house, techno, footwork, jungle, garage, and more. They shape their own trends.
Likewise, as the artist Tygapaw from New York continues to remind us, we don’t need to keep seeking validation from European dance music institutions for something that originated in their communities. In a powerful interview with Interview Magazine, they said:
“We can’t keep looking to Europe for validation. This music came from us.”
They speak directly to the urgency of decolonizing the rave. That means breaking down Eurocentric frameworks that dictate who gets to play, who gets booked again, and what kinds of sounds and bodies are seen as acceptable in underground spaces.
“If you play a set that defies the sound of that room, you’ll probably never get booked again. That’s how gatekeeping works in that space.”
That sort of social control runs deep in supposedly "liberated" spaces within Berlin, as many artists feel they must conform to fit a box. And I’ve felt it too. The first time I went to Panorama Bar, as flawless as the night was. I remember a momentary visceral feeling of unease as I was the only woman of color on the floor at one point. As I looked around, my eyes couldn’t see anyone past the sea of white, male bodies. It’s a space built and curated for white, queer men. That sense of isolation felt in a space built on Black and queer legacy is unsettling. It’s a reminder of how far the origins of this culture get erased in pursuit of an exportable product.
In contrast, my first experience at Nowadays for a Soul Summit- Mister Sunday party was quite the opposite. I’m aware that the crowd at Nowadays can vary depending on the party. As some parties feel curated for trend, easily infiltrated by people chasing aesthetics over intention. But Soul Summit has consistently transformed the outdoor space. As I looked around, I saw Black and Brown folks of all ages. Families rejoiced with the many food vendors catering to most needs. The DJs and founders Sadiq, Tabu, and Jeff Mendoza played soulful rhythms, deep house, and drums. Once you set foot on the dancefloor, it’s magnetic. The dancefloor is made from playground rubber that allows dancers to be joyful and carefree. There’s this nostalgic familiarity from childhood block parties as the energy first began in Fort Greene Park. For over 20 years, it has become known for a multigenerational dancefloor rooted in Black culture, community healing, and celebration. Soul Summit doesn’t just bring people together, but it reminds us why we gather in the first place.
When we talk about reclaiming the dance floor, it’s also about how we listen. The quality of the sound is often overlooked by amplification. But a sound system is the beating heart of any good party. It’s what allows you to feel the music as much as hear it. It holds space for dancers to go deeper, for rhythms to move through bodies and not just around them. It becomes a bridge between artist and community, between spirit and movement.
Nowhere is this clearer than in San Francisco, where the legendary Sunset Sound System, founded by Solar and Galen, has been doing it right for over 25 years. In an illuminating interview with Ransom Note, they reflect on how they’ve built something enduring without ever chasing hype:
“We weren’t trying to be cool—we just wanted to bring people together.”
That intention is everything. From open-air gatherings in parks to boat parties and after-hours sessions, Sunset Sound System has always centered community, environment, and sound quality. They didn’t need flashy bookings or rapid expansion. They focused on creating a space where music could be felt deeply and collectively, to let the rest grow organically.
Their events often take place in natural spaces with the beautiful Californian backdrop of fresh grass, near water, and under clear blue skies. It's where the sound becomes immersive and the vibe is co-created by everyone present. As they explain, the longevity of Sunset wasn’t a result of market strategy or branding. It was about trusting music, the people, and investing in the environment that holds them both.
As I’m writing this from my London flat, where this summer’s discourse seems obsessed with whether private equity is needed in the dance music scene. But to me, that’s the wrong question. The better one is: What happens when we let profit guide culture? And who are these dancefloors made for? Once you start addressing these questions, you realize many nights in London feel like rinse-and-repeat formulas. With an international headliner for nostalgic clout, a buzzed-about local act, and a resident or two quietly holding it down. These events might sell out, but they rarely build anything lasting. Where’s the magic in that? Where’s the vulnerability and the community?
Ironically, some of the same people who scoff at America’s dance music scene are the ones commercializing it most in London. They’re stripping it of its radical origins, packaging it for trend cycles, and treating the dance floor like a product launch. It's possible to throw a low-risk party in DIY spaces when the focus is on building a community. When I think of the nights that have truly stayed with me, they weren’t about headliners. It was a felt sense of belonging in a joint community with a sound system that moved me. Whether in a park in Fort Greene, a foggy San Francisco beach, or a warehouse in Baltimore. These dance floors center people over profit, connection over clout, sound over status.
While London has sparked my creativity to jump into DJing, especially through the South Asian and SWANA artists who are pushing boundaries. Bristol and Carnival both continue to embody the essence of community-based sound system culture. The beautifully curated Amapiano gatherings or Queer collectives curating spaces that center joy, rhythm, and radical connection. It’s where production becomes an extension of intention. It’s about creating safe, expressive environments that invite you to feel, move, and belong—not just party. These exist, but I want more nights where people stay. Not just physically, but emotionally. Where DJs get to play long, expansive sets with the dance floor being held. Where it doesn’t fizzle out because there hasn’t been a quick mixing edit played every 5 minutes.
It’s not the algorithm, the lineup, or the reel that gives a party longevity. It’s the community. It’s the refusal to follow trends just to stay relevant. It’s reclaiming spaces. It's knowing your night is more than who's playing. It's about who’s showing up, holding space about how people are treated, and what they leave with. The best parties don’t need hype. They run on true diversity, sound, and community. And that’s the real blueprint.
Some incredible parties/labels to follow are listed below:
· ZAP Outdoorz Festival
· Hast du Feuer
· Planet Queer
· Magnetic
· Slink NYC
· Earth Dog Rec
· Papi Juice
· Dweller
· Fiber
· Disco Tehran
· Underground & Black
· Record Wala
· Sunset Sound System
· Honey Soundsystem
· Objects Don’t Dance
· In The Box
You can follow Eshie on instagram HERE
 | A guest post by
|